


Tremors

by mandaree1



Series: Tremors [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Cussing, Family Issues, Financial Issues, Gen, Kids learning to cuss, Post-Canon, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-02-03 15:45:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12751320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandaree1/pseuds/mandaree1
Summary: Dipper and Mabel return for the summer. Pacifica is overworked. Mabel gets bitten by a were-possum. Dipper's trying to organize their journal.





	1. Chapter 1

"Girl don't do it."

Mabel popped the top of her lollipop off the stick and tossed it into her mouth with a smirk.

"Oh my god."

The girl smacked her lips, leaning back in the old leather seat of the Speedy Beaver. Their luggage clacked and shuffled underneath them, thrown back and forth by the movements of the bus. The suitcases had only made for good footstools maybe the first twenty minutes or so, forcing the twins to switch between bending their knees awkwardly or stretching them out at an angle to keep the blood flow going. Waddles- who was easily big enough for his own seat- wasn't helping matters much, draped across Mabel's lap and snuffling at Dipper's for food. (Though he  _did_  have to admit the pig looked pretty snazzy in his glittery harness)

Mabel pushed the sucker around her mouth a moment with her tongue just to irritate him, then squinted at his red jacket, pulling it closer to take a sniff. "This doesn't smell clean, Dipper."

"I mean, it's clean  _for me_."

"Dipper, you  _promised_." She let go with a sour look on her face. "What's Wendy gonna think when she gets a whiff of your BO?"

"You're assuming Wendy is gonna get close enough to smell it, for one," he replied, holding up fingers. "And I've smelled far worse, for two."

"Touché," she admitted, though she didn't look happy about it.

"And  _you_  smell like hot glue, so don't judge."

"Hot glue is the ambrosia of this world, dummy. Bask in it."

"Ambrosia is the food and water gods drink. It's not a smell."

"And you know what, Dipper?" Mabel leaned close to whisper. " _Food has a smell._  Therefore, I'm not wrong."

"I mean, I guess? On a technicality?" Waddles let out a squeal of complaint as Dipper shifted. "You  _do_  know he's big enough for his own chair, right?"

Mabel pointed at him. "If you want to try and make this fella move, go for it."

"Fair enough." Dipper reached out to pat his head. "The lap is yours, good sir."

The bus in summer is never a pleasant experience, but the Pines liked to believe they handled themselves with at least a small amount of dignity. Mabel tied her sweater around her waist, citing sticky leather seats as bad for modeling, her "All Hail the Mighty Glow Cloud" t-shirt being worn as a stab at irony. Dipper cuts his finger on the metal window corner and pours ample hand sanitizer on it; the preteen was many things, but good with pain was not one of them, shoving a sleeve into his mouth so he didn't startle the driver. Mabel slipped a purple band-aid on it once he was better, patting it for good measure.

The shift from regular Oregon to  _Roadkill County, Oregon_ , is hard to explain. It was far from just the trees getting thicker and taller, feeding off the gnomes' care and unicorn fertilizer. It was like breaking through a barrier of oil- you don't notice it until you're rubbing your fingers together, and once you do it's impossible to get off. Dipper audibly hummed, pulling out a dollar store brand diary covered in pink flowers, as per Mabel's request. He wrote a few observations down-  _the deer never fear vehicles, but they seem aware of the dangers they present, watching silently from the treeline; evidence of mudslides show as far back as near the state border, terrifying but true; Waddles perked up immediately, what does he sense_ \- then passed it over to Mabel to do the same with a gel pen, gnawing on his own.

(She only wrote one question:  _why is the bus always empty?_ )

Dipper was closer to the window on the right side, and he got the first eyeful of the welcoming party. Wendy drew his attention first- not out of any ex-crush-related reasons, but because she had grown that much taller since they were gone, up to Soos' eyebrows and likely only going to get taller. Soos himself looked about the same, pits of his Mr. Mystery suit stained with sweat. Candy and Grenda had grown taller as well, though they had yet to hit puberty. It seemed the only person who  _hadn't_  grown was Dipper, who was slowly losing ground with Mabel. Candy's hair was up in a braid.

"We're here!" Mabel gushed as the Speedy Beaver jolted to a stop, patting out a tune on her pig's belly. "Let's go mingle, my boys!"

Waddles got off the bus first, screeching a battle cry that demanded petting. It hadn't been easy to convince their parents to keep a full-sized pig in the house- there had been a lot of training on Mabel's part, a lot of harness and leash making, and a few nights where the girl had stayed up late, worrying she couldn't pull it off- and the results showed as he politely nudged the greeting party with his nose, freshly de-tusked and trimmed for extra friendliness. Mabel was out soon after, and promptly engulfed in a wave of hugs.

Dipper found himself pulled into side-embrace by Wendy, who let out a fairly enthusiastic, "Heeeey." She bumped her head to his shoulder and pulled back, nose wrinkling. "Dude, did you wash this recently? You almost smell halfway decent."

"I  _did_ , actually," he said with some satisfaction, glancing at Mabel, who stuck her tongue out at him. "Thanks for noticing."

"I'd seen the photos, but I never realized he'd gotten so big!" exclaimed Grenda as she patted Waddles' head.

"It's true," Candy added. "I could ride that pig into battle."

"Ah, he's a lil' gentlemen, really." Mabel jiggled his glittery harness a little bit, showing off her handy work. "No war riding for him, I'm afraid."

Wendy chuckled, nudging Dipper's shoulder. "Come on. The others are holding a booth hostage at Lazy Susan's. We can make proper plans over brunch."

* * *

Pacifica's day begins at three A.M. Which, admittedly, is only an hour or so earlier than she normally wakes up. She sits up, runs a hand through her short hair, and deems it presentable. She's still in last night's uniform.

Dumping her greasy arcade uniform in the laundry basket, Pacifica pulled out her equally greasy Hoo-Ha Owl's Pizzamatronic Jamboree uniform, complete with the standard chipmunk face on the front and badger on the back. Hoo-Ha's wasn't her first stop of the day- technically, it was the third, after early morning stock at Tons and a half-shift at Greasy's- but it was undeniably the cleanest of them. She listens to her father talk on the phone while she buttons up, her mother snoring quietly a room away.

Things had fallen into a form of routine in the Northwest home: Pacifica worked, Preston called, and Priscilla slept. Even at three in the morning, that had not changed.

He always starts out the same way. Pacifica recites it in her mind while Preston recites it out loud, filling in the name blank. "Hello, Richard. It's Preston Northwest. Now, I'm sure you're wondering-"

No, he isn't. He really isn't. This is the fifth time in a month that he  _hasn't wondered_.

Preston's tone immediately changes. "Listen, I know I've done some bad things, but that was in the past! Can't you possibly spare a few bucks for an old friend? I mean, Rich  _is_  your family name, and it's not like you're lacking." A pause. Preston's hand slams down on the table. "My family will starve to death if we don't receive support soon! Do you  _really_  want that on your conscious, good man?"

Pacifica is tying her last shoelace as the phone slams into the receiver.

"Eggs," he mutters as she enters the main part of the house, head in his hands. They both pretend the conversation is a secret only he knows. "Make it an omelet."

Originally, the Northwests had moved into one of the pricier three-floored houses in Gravity Falls, but it'd only taken a few months for funds to grow dry. Pacifica is only fourteen, and there's only so many employers willing to let her juggle  _more jobs_  and school. That's the nice thing about summer; it destroys half the problem, if only for a few months.

Their new home- a two-floor townhouse- is smack dab in the middle of town. It's not ideal for her parents, but it's better than a cardboard box. Pacifica doesn't mind the size so much as she does its lack of furnishing; would it really kill them to invest in a couch or something? Or at least a second bed? A sleeping bag is only charming when there's the promise of something more comfy to sleep in at a later date.

"Well, aren't  _you_  looking just spiffy today?" Susan gushes while Pacifica ties on her apron. It's impossible to tell if she's being sarcastic or not. "Just keep that chipmunk covered, dearie. It's bad enough you're working for the enemy- I wouldn't want ya' advertising them in my place too."

"Is Hoo-Ha's even a competitor?"

"Hmmm? Nah, I don't think so." She waved it off with a hand covered in some unidentifiable substance. "They're  _way_  more popular than we are."

Pacifica is not a great cook. Her finest dishes are instant ramen and eggs. Anything more complicated tends to set the pan or pot or whatever else ablaze. She can  _sort of_  do pancakes, but they typically come out that unappetizing dark brown color. Lazy Susan does the cooking, Pacifica waits tables, and almost everyone goes home happy.

(And, to be blunt? Her stomach has never adjusted to eating cheap foods. The stench of grease and  _You-Probably-Wish-This-Was-Butter!_  makes her nauseous.)

Greasy's is fairly quiet, but that's nothing new. Gravity Falls is a small town, and people really only come to it for the Mystery Shack or ghost hunting. Lee, Nate, Robbie, and Tambry have taken up a booth right smack dab in the middle, gabbing back and forth. They order sodas, Nate slapping his hands on the table while he does it.

"Thompson's got a cold," Robbie tells her while she sets the glasses down, as if she asked. "Can we get, like, your oldest and nastiest sponge? I'm gonna dare him to eat it."

"We chuck those out," Pacifica says. "Health code and all that."

"Huh," he exhaled, glancing around. "Didn't think this place cared about health codes all the much." He waved her off. "I'm sure we can find something in Lee's garage."

Something gross settled in the bottom of her stomach, bumping against her bladder as Pacifica went about mopping the kitchen. She'd known the twins were coming, of course- Gideon hadn't shut up about it since word reached his ears. But there had been something soothing about being remembered as she was before by  _someone_ , and having them come by during work hours would shatter her rich snob persona completely.

But there's nothing to be done about it. There's nothing to be done about anything, really.

Pacifica is halfway through cleaning an plate covered in cheese ( _put extra soap and hot water on it, focus on the others, come back to it last; cheese hates your guts. It's the enemy. NASA could glue a shuttle together with dried cheese and never have to worry about it breaking into little bits- unless, of course, space has dawn dish soap_ ) when the chanting and pounding starts. Robbie starts it, or so she assumes: "Dorks! Dorks! Dorks! Dorks!"

She hears the hooves first. Or maybe it's the pig snorking at tables. Then it's Dipper and Mabel laughing, Dipper calling: "Alright,  _alright_ , we get the picture! Missed you guys, too."

"You know," Lazy Susan prompts, flipping a soggy dish towel onto her shoulder. "That Valentino boy has a point. We really  _don't_  give a darn about health codes here."

"Does that mean we're about to start?"

"Shoot, no. Now, be a dear and go give those kids some menus."

Pacifica grabs a handful of them, taking the second to run her fingers through her hair in a final attempt at looking decent. (When was the last time she showered? Probably sooner than Dipper, at least.) She cracked her back for good measure, then sashayed out of the kitchen and into the doorway. "Well, well. I heard you dweebs were coming back soon."

She expects a reaction, of course- she's a Northwest. People react when she comes through any door, be it the dentist or the Taj Mahal. That will never change. She  _doesn't_  expect Mabel to screech her name, punt herself over the booth, and promptly pick her up in a crushing hug. "Ahhhhhhhhh! Pacificaaaaaaaaaa! I can't believe how much I've missed your snobby voice!"

"I feel insulted," she wheezed. "But also warmed."

"I dunno why you guys bother with these old menus," Lee mused as he plucked them from her hand, slapping them onto the table. They spread out like cards. "We all know what the haps is."

"It's standard procedure," Pacifica edged out. The fabled white light was starting to tickle the corners of her vision. "Mabel, I'm literally about to die."

"Huh," Tambry grunted. "I didn't think you guys were about that here."

Dipper leaned over slightly to scan her uniform. "You work at the diner?"

Pacifica put her hands on her hips. Working hadn't taught her to be less proud of herself. If anything, it'd taught her how to function on basically no sleep, but that was about it. "I work everywhere."

"She ain't lying," supplied Wendy as she sat down, taking up Mabel's spot. "Well, unless you count the Mystery Shack and my Dad's place."

He cleared his throat. "So, uh... where are you folks working at, then? Do- did they get jobs at the mudflap factory?"

"They shut that place down." Pacifica tapped her pen against her notepad and pretended she was a semi-functional fourteen year old. "You here for chitchat or are you here for grub?"

"You're not working for your entire family, are?" Dipper insisted.

Pacifica leveled him a look. "Do you want some food, or do you want a punch to the face?"

"Food, please."

"Then shut up and order. Oh, and welcome back."

* * *

Greasy's had a habit of settling in the belly like a stone. A tasty, unhealthy stone, but a stone nonetheless. Dipper patted his stomach as he propped himself up on the arm of the car, staring out the window as the trees flew past. Magical creatures hated roads more than not-so-magical creatures- though Dipper wasn't exactly sure why. An instinctual urge to keep hidden?- but the deer and birds that stared as they roared past were just as unnerving.

" _Waddles_ ," Mabel groaned, but the pig's head refused to leave her lap.

"Don't worry about it, dudes," Soos said. He was the one driving. "We're almost back to the shack."

Wendy made a face from the passenger's seat. She twisted around. "Yeah, about that. My family has been _way_  busy lately, but give me a week and you'll get a proper frame and stuff. And, like, a second bed."

"That part's my fault, dudes. That broken arm cost me a pretty penny."

Dipper and Mabel exchanged a look. They'd known beforehand that their room had been given to Abuelita, but they'd hoped for better than what the two were assigning them. "It's no big, dude," Dipper said, hoping he came across as convincing. "We're troopers."

They dropped Wendy off at her house, then continued the rest of the way to the old shack. Melody welcomed them both with a pat on the shoulder, leading them to the old vending machine with an awkward chuckle. "Just a warning, I have literally never taken care of kids in my life. Well, I  _did_  babysit once, but I ended up calling my parents, like, a half hour in. So let's take this a day at a time, alright?"

"You set us up in a mad scientist's basement," Mabel hummed. "That's a good way to start."

"Great Uncle Ford isn't a  _mad scientist_ ," Dipper eked out. "He's just...  _very passionate_."

"I'll take your word for it, kids."

It take multiple assuaging words to get Soos to relax. It was very clear the man was worried about their living conditions, which he had denoted more than once as 'kinda blech' and 'seriously, dudes, prepare for bad', peppering in promises of making them better once he had the cash. By the time Dipper had inputted the code to open the secret passageway the twins had come to the unanimous conclusion that they must trek down alone, shutting and latching it behind them with a quick, "See you once we finish unpacking."

"Well," Mabel said into the dark and cramped hallway. "At least it's private."

"True. No one will be able to hear us if we scream for help."

"When you put it like that..."

The elevator had been oiled since they last used it, descending much more smoothly. The doors slid open to the room once filled with technology for the portal, but the rectangular room was barren. A single bookshelf had been placed near the door to the main laboratory. Wendy's name was carved into the side of it. The duo hesitantly slipped towards the main control panel, finding it just as empty of switches and buttons. All that remained was the desk light and the place Stan stored the journals.

"Wow." Dipper gave the thing a kick. It echoed. "You can't even tell this thing could've killed us."

Mabel went around the other side, hissing in a sour breath. "That symbol is still there, though. That's a bummer."

"It could be a good reminder, though. Ford says it means 'watch your step'."

"Yeah, well, I look at this and think 'man, I can't believe this is the thingy that burned our beloved Grunkle Stan' not 'man, I should be careful!'"

"Fair point, fair point."

The portal room was the emptiest by far, but that was about what they were expecting. Ford had taken the instrument down himself. The circles that once bathed the floor and the ceiling in an eerie blue light had been covered with metal and welded shut. Perched on top of one of them was a mattress. Off to the side was a mini-fridge, plugged into the wall via an extension cord.

"It could be worse?" Mabel said, sounding more like she was asking, seeking out the answer to her own optimistic hope. "There could be fire everywhere."

"I mean, at least they  _attempted_  to spruce it up, I guess." Dipper pulled their journal out of his suitcase, then found he couldn't think of a single thing to write. "Do you think it's too late for a rip-roaring adventure? Y'know, find something for our book?"

Mabel didn't respond. She sighed in the direction of their mattress. "That's a tiny bed for two technical-teens, Dip-Dop."

"We could chop it in half. We each get our own territory to rule over."

Her nose wrinkled. "But then the mattress fluff would get all over."

He shrugged. "You could always sew it up. Unless, of course, you don't think you're up for-"

Mabel put a hand on his arm, staring thoughtfully at the dingy old bed. "Dipper, are you doubting my abilities?"

Dipper knew better than to argue when one of Mabel's infamous muses came a'knocking. "No, Lady Mabes. I was just teasing."

"You better not be. I'mma put glitter all over it."

"Christ on a bike."

"And maybe paint that on our blanket."

They settled in without much complaint thereafter, though neither one of them looked particularly pleased about it. Regardless, they both fell asleep fairly quickly, long used to the other kicking and grunting (or meowing) in their sleep.

That is, until the thud.

Mabel sat up almost immediately, awoken by Waddles' warning squeal. She held her breath, ears metaphorically pricked (though she personally liked to imagine them actually pricking- adorable and silly, that'd be). Tiny little claws made themselves known on the metal floor.

"Dipper," she hissed, shaking his shoulder. "Dipper, wake up."

"Hrm?" He rolled onto his back. "Wassat?"

"I think something fell through that hole under the shack."

Dipper blinked at her, uncomprehending. He sat up. "Shoot. I thought they boarded that up."

An alien screech echoed trough the room.

"Well, I've been wrong before."

Mabel made a kissing noise. Waddles, taking his cue, walked over and awkwardly crawled onto the metal platform. "Just so you know, I blame you for this. You just  _had_  to jinx us."

"I can accept that."

The door slid open, and out stepped the ugliest possum the twins had ever seen. It was double or triple the size of a normal possum, with a ridged spine. Drool hung from its maw, which gaped open to hiss.

"Are you  _serious_?" Mabel asked, torn between shock and confusion. This proved to be a mistake.

The possum let out another ear-splitting screech and charged, tail lashing like a whip. Dipper grabbed the flimsy diary in hopes of batting it away. Mabel pushed Waddle down a bit in a protective gesture; her hands were too full to stop the creature until it tackled her to the floor, pointy teeth digging into her shoulder. She yelped with pain, hauling it up by its scruff. " _Fuck_!"

Dipper slammed his hand down around the creature's muzzle, clamping it shut. "Mabel, are you okay?"

"It bit me!" she exclaimed, shocked and repulsed. "I'mma need a rabies shot."

"It doesn't  _look_  rabid. At least, it doesn't look like the rabid creatures I've seen in movies, anyway."

Mabel opened her mouth to reply, but her arm gave a rather sudden jerk, and the possum went flying. It landed with a flop. Waddles gave chase, slamming his stubby nose into the hole it vanished into. Dipper put a hand on his back. "You did good, mi amigo. You did good."

"Uh, Dipper? I think we gotta problem."

Dipper turned. Mabel had yanked her sweater to the side to check the wound, and even this far away he could see it was red and pulsing. White and black fur had begun to spread up her arm, and when she opened her mouth he could see she had fangs.

"Uh-oh," he said intelligently.

* * *

"Pacifica, what  _are_  you eating?"

Pacifica set her burger down and carefully dabbed the grease from her mouth before answering. "Leftovers from Hoo-Ha's."

"Oh," Priscilla said, looking queasy at the mere thought of it. "Good for you, dear."

"That's unsightly," Preston said, distractedly spooning another bite of his homemade clam chowder.

She didn't answer, taking another dainty bite. Their dinner table was roughly the size of a pizza. They bumped elbows as they chowed down, but they all pretended they didn't notice.

Her father's eyes flickered up to her. "Pacifica."

"Yeah?"

He pulled a small piece of paper out of his pocket, sliding it across the small distance between them to be more dramatic. Pacifica and Preston always sat across each other. Priscilla always sat between them. "What is this?"

She picked it up and scanned the top lines, face blank. "It's my party schedule. We get a new one every month."

"You left it on the counter."

"Sorry. I was making dinner."

Preston's voice was stern. "It has _his_  name on it."

Pacifica's eyes darted up to him, but her father's features were only vaguely disapproving. She looked back down. Sure enough, three from the bottom, Fiddleford McGucket was typed in. "Oh. It says here his son is turning twenty-two."

"You  _know_  that name is outlawed in these walls."

"I really didn't notice," she told him earnestly.

"You're not going in that day."

"Dad-"

"He _shamed_  us, Pacifica. You will not work for him."

"I already told them I would." Pacifica forced herself not to look away when his eyebrows narrowed. She was fourteen years old. She shouldn't be afraid of him anymore. "We need the money."

"Have you no pride, Pacifica?" he demanded. "He-"

She slammed her hands down, too quietly to be disruptive but too loud to be anything else. Pacifica stood up. "All he did was buy a house, Dad. I  _wish_  our record was that clean."

"He's a hillbilly who stomped our good name into the dust!" Preston stood up as well, leaning over so they were close. "It's people like him that have put us into this situation in the first place!"

" _You_  put us into this situation," Pacifica insisted. She wasn't even sure why she was arguing this. She hardly knew McGucket. Maybe she just wanted to fight. "And you know what? We'd all be better off if  _you_  didn't insist we eat the most expensive stuff at the store. If  _you_  didn't demand we get the most expensive clothes. If we go under, it'll all be on you, because you don't know how to let your ego go!"

"My ego?  _My_  ego?" Preston raised an eyebrow. "That's quite a lot from the girl so determined to be the family hero. What happened to fixing our family name?"

"When I said that," she answered quietly. "It didn't include a man who'd rather starve his family then get a job."

Preston spluttered a moment- Pacifica was certain she heard her full name somewhere in the incomprehensible mess- then pointed at her room. Pacifica stomped away without complaint, closing the door behind her with a quiet click. She locked it for good measure.

The hours dwindled by. Preston and Priscilla changed and went to bed in silence. Pacifica had been forced to leave half her meal uneaten, and she didn't feel particularly interested in trying to sneak it now, though her stomach tried to get her to reconsider. She drowsed for a bit, off and on, but sleep proved fruitless.

The noise of hooves on concrete were what had her sticking her head out of the window. She wasn't entirely sure what she'd expected to find- maybe Gompers taking a late night stroll- but Dipper being dragged behind Waddles wasn't it. The pig bore the sparkly harness from earlier, as well as the sparkly leash. Dipper looked to be in his boxers and undershirt, an ancient cat carrier clutched under his arm. She didn't think anyone at the Mystery Shack had ever owned a cat.

She isn't sure why she calls out, just like she isn't sure why she argued with her father. She isn't sure why she does a lot of things anymore. "Yo, dork! Whatcha up to?"

Dipper jumped, tripped, and leaned on Waddles for support. He blinked up a her window like a cat whose photo has just been taken, wide-eyed and a bit confused. He lifted the cat carrier. "Would you believe I'm chasing after my sister? And that she's been turned into a freakish possum creature?"

"No," said Pacifica, who was already half out the window. "I'm coming down to help."

"Wait-" said Dipper, half a second too late. The Northwest came tumbling to the grass with very little grace, though she managed to pick herself up alright.

"Ivy always worked better in the movies," she greeted as she crossed the street. "I think the stuff on my house is defective."

Dipper had no response to that. He simply handed her the cat carrier.

Waddles was quick and efficient, snorking at the ground like a pink bloodhound. It felt like they would see the very edge of a pink tail or hear a quiet hiss with every corner they turned, but they were unable to fully catch up with the newest were-possum of Gravity Falls. (Silently, in the very back of their minds, Pacifica and Dipper both came to terms with how ridiculous this was becoming, but they didn't dare admit as much out loud.)

"I think she's heading for the lake," Dipper announced as the sound of waves grew nearer.

"No kidding, Sherlock," Pacifica replied. "Question. Can possums swim?"

He held his hands up, mouth forming a sideways I. "Probably?"

"Grand."

"Mabel said her first cuss word today."

"That's a very strange turn of topic."

"Not really. She yelled the F bomb when she got bit."

Pacifica gave a low whistle. "The F bomb?  _Dang_. I'd be eating an entire bottle of dish soap if I tried that."

"Yeah, well, we were alone when it happened..." Dipper cleared throat, scratching an itchy spot on his scalp. "We kinda, uh, live in the basement now?" His voice got squeaky at the end. "Yeah."

"That dirty place behind the vending machine?"

"That's the one."

"Wow. I thought Mr. Mystery, like, cared about you guys."

"Soos  _does_  care about us, okay?" he snapped, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "He just doesn't have the cash right now, and I'm not gonna hold it against him."

Pacifica hummed, then snorted. "Jesus, that reminds me. My dad saved up all my paychecks last month for sturgeon."

"The fish?"

"The caviar."

"Oh. _Ew_. Fish eggs."

"They're fairly cheap fish eggs, too. I guess I should feel lucky he wasn't going for the good stuff."

"Question. What's the most expensive kind of fish eggs, and have you had them?"

"Almas," she answered immediately. "And, no, I haven't. They're albino sturgeon eggs from really old fish from some super clean water, or something like that. A little over two ounces of those puppies is worth thirty-four thousand and some change. My mom always wanted to try them."

"Alrighty." Dipper tried to imagine that much cash at one time, and found he couldn't. "Second question. Is caviar even that  _good_?"

"That depends. Do you like salty and fishy?"

"You just answered my question. Thank you."

"It really depends on the caviar. The  _really_  fresh stuff is less salty. Some of it is even kinda sweet."

"Somehow, that only makes it sound less appealing."

"To each their own. Personally, I was always kinda grossed out by edible gold.  _Why_  would you want to eat a metal? Is it even a metal anymore if it's still edible? Who thought it would be a good idea to make gold edible in the first place?"

Waddles gave a particularly harsh jerk on the leash, and their discussion halted. It was a clear summer night in Gravity Falls, as is the norm- for all the magic in it, the weather itself seemed fairly stable- and the water hardly seemed to shift. It made the slithering, skittering creature on the dock all the more prominent.

"If she jumps in, I'm not going after her," Pacifica cautioned, clutching the cat carrier to her chest. "You swim her back yourself, for all I care. This is my one decent outfit."

"I expected no less of you, Northwest. Here, hold my leash."

"I got yo' leash, Pines."

"Did you... just attempt to meme?"

"In my defense, it's three in the morning. No one thinks clearly at three in the morning."

"Third-shifters probably think clearly at three in the morning."

"They probably think about their bed."

"Don't we all?"

Pacifica gave Dipper a good shove.

Were-Mabel hissed at him as he approached, leaping into the water without a second thought. Pacifica sat the very edge of the dock, carrier set on her lap, and watched the boy struggle to grab the doggy-paddling possum, holding her jaw shut with one hand and wrapping the other one around her midsection. From there, they worked together to shove the waterlogged creature into the carrier and shut it, tilting it slightly to drain any excess water. Dipper wrung out his shirt.

"Well, that sucked," he hummed plainly. "Wanna get some Hermanos Brothers?"

* * *

"Can a possum even digest burritos?"

"Yes. Maybe? Probably." Dipper shrugged, stuffing a corner of the meat and cheese burrito through the bars of the cage. Mabel eagerly snatched it up. "Possums can eat practically anything, can't they?"

"Don't look at me. I've never even seen a living possum until tonight." Pacifica took a bite out of her chicken taco. She was far less graceful on the curb outside of Hermanos Brothers than she was in her own kitchen, but she doubted Dipper noticed or cared. And, even if he did, it didn't really matter. "So, you gonna call your mad scientist Uncle?"

"Great Uncle Ford isn't a mad scientist. He's  _passionate about science_. There's a difference."

"You sound like those people who say dolls and action figures are different."

"Action figures typically have more bendable joints in them," he calmly pointed out.

"I know, and it's bullshit. If I'm taking care of a plastic baby, I might as well be able to wrench the limbs around."

Dipper blinked at her. "Am I the only child around who doesn't have a single swear word coming out of their mouths tonight?"

"Technically, I'm not a kid."

"Oh, right, right. I forget you've got the early birthday."

Pacifica handed him a piece of seasoned chicken for the cage dweller to devour. "January baby."

"A Capricorn, then? Makes sense." He nodded to himself. "Stan and Ford are June kids. Stan seems to find that hilarious."

"They're Gemini, right? I'm terrible with Astrology, but that's the only star sign joke I could think of that makes sense."

"Yeah, they're Gemini." Dipper sighed and patted the side of the carrier. Mabel gave a rather invigorating thrash. "I'll call tomorrow and see what Great Uncle Ford has to say."

"He always came across as super serious to me."

"He is when you first get to know him, but he's as big a dork as I am. He'll probably want data and stuff. Which reminds me." Dipper pulled the flowery notebook out of his jacket. The cover was soaked, but the pages were mostly secure. "I told myself I would write in this at least twice a day. This seems like a good thing to write about."

Pacifica leaned over his shoulder while he scratched out  _Were-Possums_  in big, bold letters, then added underneath:  _seem mostly feral, unaware of 'human' morality or concerns. Like fake Mexican food. Possibly a reject from Weirdmageddon._

She plucked the soggy pen out of his hand and drew an arrow from the title to the margins. She wrote in cursive. _Plot of a B-rated horror movie?_


	2. Chapter 2

"So, uh, how is Mabel taking it?"

"Um..." The Mystery Shack checkout counter creaked in wood agony as Dipper leaned over, a hand over the receiver, to read what his twin was jotting down in bright green glitter gel pen. A rough drawing of the were-possum featured, with the nickname "Evil Jerkface" scratched underneath. To the side of Pacifica's addendum, she had drawn yet another arrow, adding  _why is Pacifica's handwriting here before mine? I see how it is. It's true tho._ A skull with crossbones dotted the empty page beside it. "Better than I expected, actually. This is fixable, yes?"

"Yes," Ford agreed, but it came across the line hesitantly. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Yes, it is. But-"

"I hate it when you say but, Great Uncle Ford."

" _But_  I require the original venom. As in, the were-possum itself."

"Mabel named it Evil Jerkface."

"Find  _Evil Jerkface_ , and we're golden."

Dipper relayed the information to Mabel, who let out an agonized groan of her own and buried her face in her knees. "How are we gonna find one little were-possum in all of Roadkill County?"

"Hand that over, Ford." Stan's grizzly voice replaced his brother's as he took hold of the payphone. "And give this'un over to yer sister, you got me?"

"Aye, aye, old geezer."

"Remind me to ground you for that later, you knucklehead," Stan grunted, but his tone was fond. He'd always felt that disobedience and rebellion were key factors for growing up right.

Mabel limply held the phone to her ear, sniffing back a line of snot. "Hi."

His voice softened. "Hiya, pumpkin. How- how ya' doin'?"

"Not so great," she admitted, setting the journal aside. "My shoulder hurts. And I'm a monster now."

"Mabel, you're not a monster."

"And not even, like, a _cool_  monster. Why couldn't I have been a werewolf? Or a were-eagle? I'm salty about my lack of noble plumage, Grunkle Stan."

"Mabel," he repeated, and she quieted down. "What do I always say?"

"Eff the cops?"

"Besides that."

"Everything is legal if you ignore societal boundaries?"

" _Besides that_."

" _Oh_ ," she said. "A good pitch makes a man rich?"

"Got it in three, kiddo. You gotta pitch this to yourself. Sure, maybe you're a monster. Maybe not. S'not my call to make.  _But,_  you've got some nice fur outta the deal, and weird little claw hands. Oh! And you're possibly a passive carrier of rabies now. That's pretty neat too."

"Grunkle Stan?"

"Yeah, sweetie?"

"I appreciate what you're trying to do, but it's  _not helping_."

Stan didn't sound hurt by that. "Understood. Sixer, science up somethin' to make our niece feel better."

"Listen, Mabel," Ford said, after some shuffling. "There's a spot in the woods that attracts small magic beings like Evil Jerkface. I'd check there first."

"How d'ya find it?"

"I'd ask your little lumber friend. She'll probably know what I'm talking about."

* * *

"And here you'll see- why, Pacifica!" Bud cut himself off mid-pitch, scowling. "I don't pay you to  _not_  wash my cars."

Pacifica glanced up with half-lidded eyes at the large man towering over her, up to her elbows in soap suds. She was still in her pjs. She hadn't gone home. Go fig. "Sorry, Mr. Gleeful."

"This is Pacifica," Bud explained to his customers, gesturing to her like she was a potential sale. "She's a Northwest. And, well, as much as I hate to toot m'own horn, I think it says mighty highly of my lil' depo that a Northwest is willin' to work here."

 _Of course it does_ , Pacifica thinks as she collects her bucket. She's not supposed to get in the way of money.  _It says a mighty lot about my desperation_.

There's only one good thing about Bud's used car lot, and that good thing is Gideon, darting between the cars. Life just seemed to have a thing about making a former rich girl and a former perceived psychic friends. Something about the bullying and humiliation brings people together.

"Ya'll look like a possum on the side of the road, doll," he exclaimed as he sat down. "Lemme help. Regular ol' kids help their folks, and that means helpin' him with these dusty ol' chassis."

"That's a very ironic euphemism," Pacifica tells him, handing over the sponge. Gideon's face scrunches up at the noise it makes. "And I look like this because I haven't slept."

"Yer folks givin' you a hard time again?"

"Amongst other things."

He awkwardly patted her shoulder. "It'll git better."

She bit her lip. It had been so easy to climb out that window and away from that house. Granted, circumstances had been ripe for it, but it was nice to be gone.

She wondered, not for the first time, if she should stay that way.

"Mabel got bit," Pacifica blurts out, trying to move herself past pipe dreams of running away. "I'mma go check up on her later. You should come with, so long as you chill it on the creep factor."

"I make no promises," replied Gideon, as if that wasn't a promise in and of itself. "But I'll rip that biter apart fer Mabel, if it makes her feel better."

* * *

They walked to the Corduroy cabin, Dipper sneaking worried glances at Mabel, who kept her hands inside her sweater sleeves the whole way.

"SHE'S AT LEE'S," Manly Dan calmly explained, after they knocked on the door and explained the situation.

"Thanks, dude," Dipper called, fingers in his ears.

"NO PROBLEM."

Lee's garage sat wide open, teenagers sprawled out on boxes and amps, old toys and scrapbooks. His parents had sold the car years ago, leaving the room to be a catchall for memories and mold, those dustwebs that collect when you turn your head away.

"It's the truth," Wendy was saying as they tottered up the uneven driveway. She tilted her Pitt Cola their way as a greeting. "I was  _super_  sick, and Marcus bet me five bucks that I couldn't eat a ball of yarn. Had to get my stomach pumped, but I have no regrets."

" _Dude_ ," Nate wheezed. "You gotta tell us these stories more often."

Wendy winked and took a slug of her soda.

"Why did you eat a ball of yarn?" Dipper pulled up a box and sat down. "And why are we discussing you eating a ball of yarn?"

"I'm oldest," Wendy answered with a teasing smile. "Gotta set an example."

"Truth or dare," Robbie supplied, sighing. "It's so  _boring_  without Thompson."

"Well, I dare one of you peoples to rub my shoulders," Mabel cut in, falling to the concrete floor with little concern for the impact. "'Cause I'm a tense son of a biscuit."

Wendy set the soda down. "I got you."

Dipper leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Mabel said the F bomb last night."

"Eyyyy." Lee sent the girl in question some finger guns, snapping them for good measure. "Congrats, kiddo."

Wendy patted the girl on the head, then got to rubbing. "Does that mean we're finally free to cuss around ya'll?"

"I guess?" Dipper shrugged. "It doesn't bother me, anyway. Mabel?"

Mabel's eyes had closed, leaning into the teen's warmth. "Ya'll could recite the satanic bible right now and I wouldn't give a darn."

"Fuckin' finally," Robbie said. "All this PG wordplay was starting to cramp my style. Yo, Dipstick. Truth or dare?"

"I don't trust you lot with a dare," Dipper replied, eyeing Robbie suspiciously. "I've seen what you do with Thompson. Truth."

Nate cackled.

Robbie didn't look all that bothered by his choice. "'Kay." He tapped his chin for a long moment, hmmmmm-ing to himself, lighting up. "I got it! Your name must be super embarrassing, right? I mean, you go by  _Dipper_." He crossed his arms, smug. "Cough it up."

To his surprise, Dipper merely looked contemplative. He turned to his sister. "Mabel, I thought you told them my name."

She cocked her head to the side. "I thought you did?"

"You always use it around new people. It's, like, a thing with you."

"Yeah, when I'm  _bored_. It's hard to get bored in Gravity Falls."

"Aw, man," the teen complained. "This isn't even a big deal, is it?"

"'Fraid not." Dipper turned back to him with a smile. "My name is Mason. Dipper just clicks better."

Nate squinted at him. "You don't  _look_  like a Mason, dude."

"Hence why I go by Dipper."

"Bummer."

"My turn!" Mabel butted in, frowning. "Wendy, truth or dare?"

She snorted. "Dude, I'm not a wuss. Dare."

"I dare you to ask me why I cussed."

"Sure. Why'd you cuss?"

"I got bit by a were-possum."

Wendy stopped mid-shoulder rub. Lee, mid-sip, almost did a spit-take. Nate stopped in the middle of a laugh at Robbie's expense, breathing out a hesitant, "Oh shit." Robbie stared at her.

Dipper kicked his legs. "I thought we were gonna ease them into it."

"We eased them into it plenty." She pulled her sweater down, revealing the red and pulsing wound. "Lookie."

Wendy prodded the bite mark, eyes narrowed curiously. "Do I  _want_  to know how you got bitten by a were-possum?"

"It fell through that hole in the porch."

She smacked her head. "Fudgesticks. I totally forgot about that." Wendy reached around and carefully pulled her into a hug. "M'sorry, Mabes. Once we fix this, I'll buy you ice cream."

Mabel relaxed into her arms. "Speaking of, Ford mentioned you could help us?"

"Sure. Point me at it."

"No, not that. I want to get at Evil Jerkface myself. He said something about a weird spot in the woods?"

Her face fell. "Oh. That."

Robbie handed her the soda. "Here. We don't got any alcohol."

Dipper and Mabel exchanged a look as the teen drained her drink. "Did I say something?"

Wendy wiped her mouth on her arm. She shook her head. "Nah. But that place is janked. My Dad won't go near it."

"There's a lot of places your Dad won't go near, dude," Nate argued. "We all remember that time he punched all the milk cartoons at the grocery store until they exploded."

"I'm serious." She jiggled the can, listening to the pit clank around, gingerly setting it down. "It snows there. Like. Always. And it's only gotten worse since Weirdmageddon. Gus went in there once and he had nightmares for  _weeks_."

"What'd he see?"

"That's the thing. He doesn't remember."

Mabel tugged on her sleeve, forcing the teen to look at her. "Will you take us there?"

Wendy's frown deepened into a scowl. "Being a were-rodent  _might_  be better than a snowy nightmare land of death, Mabel."

" _Please_ , Wendy." She tugged more insistently. "I jumped into the lake last night. Who knows what I'll do tonight, or tomorrow. At least, with a snowy nightmare land of death, I  _know_  what I'm getting into."

She drew out a groan, knowing she probably wasn't supposed to be giving in to this sort of thing. "We'll need an army."

"I think we've got that covered."

* * *

"Concept: me, settin' the forest on fire."

Pacifica eyed Gideon as they crept up the old steps of the Mystery Shack. His hands were held out, fingers clenching, like he was squishing an invisible possum. "That's  _probably_  a bit too much."

"Fair enough," he replied. "Better concept: me, turnin' the entire forest inta' ice. We'll catch that grimy lil' maggot by the end of their popsicle tail."

"That would wreck the local ecosystem."

"Goddamnit." He stamped his foot on the top step, unintentionally almost sending him face-first onto the welcome mat. Pacifica grabs his shoulder with her free hand. "I'll admit, I'm a bit rusty on the black magic, but I'm primped and pumped and ready to kill me some roadkill."

She gently tapped on the wood door, half-afraid of busting it. The outside of the shack had always come across as fragile to her, cracking and creaking. The feeling only lasted as long as it took for Melody to open the door, ponytail messy. "Oh. Heya, kiddos. You here to join the army?"

Pacifica blinked at her. "I'm fourteen."

Gideon elbowed her. "And what army would that be, ma'am?"

Melody leaned on the door frame, blowing a raspberry. "Hm, that army Mabel brought to the house. I guess they're gonna go hunt and skin that possum guy? It's pretty hardcore."

" _Are you serious_?"

Gideon looked positively smitten. "I love that woman."

Pacifica punched his shoulder, grimacing. "Hey! What did I say about being creepy?"

"You're right, you're right. I'm sorry." He hissed in a breath, rubbing the afflicted area. "Ow."

The Mystery Shack wound down after dinner time, so the actual storefront was barren as they stepped inside. Dipper and Mabel both were sitting on the counter, listening intently as Wendy talked. The other teens- most of whom neither Pacifica nor Gideon knew by first name- were strewn about. Soos was in the far corner, shelving snow globes and not-so-secretly eavesdropping.

"I'm just saying, it's  _way_  too late to go right now," the redhead was saying as they got closer. "I'm not kidding you guys when I say it's creepy. And probably dangerous. We're gonna need all the light we can get."

Pacifica politely cleared her throat. "What's creepy?"

They all looked at her. It was Mabel who answered, waving a sweater sleeve. "Hey, Pacifica. We're constructing a plan to infiltrate a blizzard-y circle of nightmares in the woods to find Evil Jerkface."

"Oh," Gideon said, face screwing up. "That place."

"That's what I said," chipped in Wendy.

The small boy held up a finger. "I hate to skeddadle when I literally just got here, but if we're goin' into that circle of hell, I need to practice my magic."

" _Please_  tell me you're being figurative with your use of hell."

"I wish I was. That place is a dead spot. I heard tales from the fae of a giant deer that lives in there, protectin' those too weak to defend themselves."

" _Of course_  there's a giant deer that will gore us if we enter," Dipper deadpanned. "That's just our luck."

Nate glanced out the window. "Yoo, dude. Sun's gonna set soon."

Mabel kicked her legs in a fit of frustration, crossing her arms in a pout. "This  _sucks_. I wanna plot revenge."

"We've got until the full moon before this becomes permanent," her brother reminded her. "Ford said so. That's plenty of time."

"Tell that to my bruised pride. Hey, Pacifica?"

"What?"

"Is there any reason you're wearing your jam-jams?"

The blonde glanced down, then back up. "Because I haven't been home yet?"

Mabel grabbed Dipper's shirt. "Give her my half of the bed. We're having a sleepover."

"Excuse me?"

"I need a distraction, Dip-Dop. Deal with it."

* * *

"We oughta make that, like, a thing," Robbie was commenting, to Dipper's obvious displeasure, as Pacifica stumbled down the stairs in a borrowed polka dot sweater and her pajama pants, a towel draped over her shoulder, short hair hanging like a dead plant from her shower. "Let's make Mason your away-from-home nickname."

Dipper rolled his eyes, swaying on his feet. "Dude, that'd be like me calling you Robert twenty-four-seven."

"Robert isn't even my name."

"Exactly."

Mabel was still sitting on the counter, glancing at the sun and fidgeting. She leaned over to the trio- Lee and Nate were both laughing along- as if disclosing a great secret. "If you  _really_  wanna embarrass him, you gotta ask about his middle name."

Robbie's smile got wider. "Is that so?"

"Mabel, I should kill you for that."

"Tell us! Tell us!" Robbie chanted, then gestured to Lee and Nate to join in. "Tell us! Tell us!"

Mabel cackled. Dipper shot her look. "Fine, fine. I'll tell if my sister does."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "I hate you."

"Is her's just as bad?" asked Nate eagerly.

"Worse," bemoaned the girl. "Much worse."

Dipper held his hands up in a 'what can you do' gesture. "My parents gave me Stanley. On account of our Grunkle being presumed dead and all. There. Got it off my chest." He slapped the counter. "Since they'd given me a quote-unquote 'diseased' person's name, they figured they'd just run with it, so my dear sister got Filbrick."

"He was such an  _ass_ ," she returned, sliding down in her seat. "Grandpa and I got along like oil and water."

"He  _did_  kick Stan out of the house."

"Again. Ass."

Pacifica finally bothered to make her presence known by walking into the main store barefoot, patting Mabel on the knee as she past her, leaning on the counter. "If it helps, my name is a pun. It's not even a  _good_  pun."

"Yeah, but  _everybody_  knows that."

"'Kay, dorks, it's time for us to go." Wendy swung an arm around Robbie's shoulders, guiding him to the door. She lowered her voice. "Bring your parents' sawed-off."

"Are you serious?"

"I'm not sending a pack of kids into actual danger without guns,  _Robert_."

"That's gonna end up sticking, isn't it?"

"It is if you don't bring the firepower tomorrow."

The kids, who'd all overheard that bit, despite Wendy's intentions of keeping it lowkey, exchanged a concerned look. None of them had ever seen the teenager so skittish before. Dipper swallowed a ball of anxiety and gestured to the vending machine. "Who wants to go first?"

"I have many ethical questions about this," Pacifica mentioned as Mabel crawled into the cage the teens had brought over, Dipper closing and locking the door behind her. "But I also recognize that I don't have room to object, given that one of my jobs is at Skull Fracture."

"I have no answers for your ethical questions, and isn't Skull Fracture a bar?"

She made so-so noises. "It's whatever the biker gang wants it to be that day. Sometimes that's a bar. It really just depends." Pacifica perched herself on one of the upraised platforms with some effort, slowly taking in her surroundings. Her face didn't flinch at the filth and rubble. "Wow. This place is a mess. Everything in this room is a mess."

"Are we included in that?"

"Of course."

Mabel stuck an argumentative finger through the bars. "Waddles isn't!"

The pig in question was chewing on her discarded boots. Pacifica slowly nodded. "He's an angel. No doubt about it.  _We're_  trash mammals."

Dipper hopped up next to her. He handed her the flower-covered notebook. "Here. Trash mammals need reading material."

The blonder girl flipped through the pages. Almost half of them were covered with writings and drawings. Some pages were more full than others, and one (simply labeled  **Homeworld** , in thick, dark sharpie) was barren of description and explanation. "This thing is a lot bigger than I thought it was. You guys've been busy, huh?"

Dipper sucked in a breath. "You could call it that, yeah."

"Magic hates us," Mabel explained, but also didn't. It wasn't a very good explanation.

"Magic doesn't _hate us_. It's just... attracted to us."

"I'mma stay single, thanks."

He rolled his eyes. "Anyway. I guess Weirdmageddon did something to us, or maybe we just smell like Gravity Falls, 'cause, like, every magical creature in Piedmont is suddenly up in our business. Granted, that's far less than it is here, but that's still  _a lot_  of gnomes and shapeshifters to have to handle while school is in. It's, uh... It's a little overwhelming, yeah."

"Yeah?" Pacifica flipped the journal closed. "I know overwhelming.  _Trust me_."

* * *

Dipper stirred around one, sitting up and blinking around the dark room. Pacifica had fallen asleep not long after Mabel had transformed, and had, at some point, stolen a good portion of the blankets. He counted it as a quiet victory that she hadn't thrown a fit about the stains on them. His sister was gnawing on the bars of her cage, letting out a periodic hiss. Waddles had chosen to sleep near her, snorking with every breath. Pacifica didn't snore. Her breathing was even and practiced. He didn't put it past her parents to put her through some sort of sleeping class.

He missed when it was simple.

Pulling out the journal, he turned to a fresh page, titling it _Snowy Glen*._ He scribbled in what little he knew with determined scritches of the pen.  _Attracts mindless small creatures. Gnomes seemingly not included- they technically have minds. Freaks out local lumberjack community. Guarded by some sort of deer-like figure. Possibly related to the afterlife._

_(*Probably not an actual glen. It just sounded good.)_

"Shit," Dipper muttered under his breath. He wished, not for the first time, that he had the information on hand to make an informed decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays, ya'll!
> 
> -Mandaree1


	3. Chapter 3

"Death! Death! Death! Death!"

"Girls, girls,  _please_!" Mabel waved her hands frantically, stopping Candy and Grenda mid-chant. "We can't  _kill_  Evil Jerkface, remember? Ford needs him alive so he can cure me."

"Oh," Candy said, frowning. "Right. Sorry, Mabel."

"We can maim him, though, right?" Grenda asked, squeezing the handle on her bat.

"That is  _absolutely_  allowed."

"Awesome!" The larger girl threw her hands up. They began to chant once again. "Maim! Maim! Maim! Maim!"

"Oh, you guys..." Mabel put her chin on her hands, sighing pleasantly. "I love you two so much."

Pacifica, half-sleep, let out a quiet groan from the counter. She was still wearing the polka dot sweater and pajama pants. "This is the stupidest outfit I could've chosen to possibly die in."

"You could go home," Dipper offered, scribbling in the margins of his notebook. He added  _can eat metal_  to the list of things they knew about were-possums, recalling with an uneasy shudder the two bars Mabel had chewed through in the night. Thankfully, it seemed to be lengthy work, and she was unable to finish it before the sun rose. "Soos could drive you."

She lifted her head up slightly. "There's no way I'm stopping by my house after having an argument with my Dad to  _change clothes."_

"You _do_ intend to go home, though, right?"

"Yeah, yeah. _After_  we catch the possum thingy."

"Pacifica." Candy walked up and took her hand, pulling her out of her seat. She slipped something metal onto her hands. "There. Now you are ready."

"...Did you just give me brass knuckles?"

She nodded, patting her hand. "Candy keeps her people protected."

Grenda flanked the girl's side, holding a brush. "Turn around. We kick baddies' butts in _style_  'round here."

Pacifica slowly reversed herself, meeting Mabel's eyes with a frown. "I can't believe I'm being mom-ed by the people I used to bully."

" _I_  can't believe I'm mom-ing you," Candy confessed.

"Me neither!" Grenda pulled the brush through her short locks. "I actually considered pulling on your hair as a joke, but that's a little too mean, even for us."

"Please don't."

The front door slammed open so suddenly they all jumped, even as the familiar wheezing of Thompson registered in their ears. The boy looked like a wreck. His nose was stuffed to the rafters, sweat stains marring his shirt. His face was an even brighter shade of red than when he was blushing. He was desperately trying to collect himself, even as he closed the door behind him, the action made difficult by the water gun in his hand. "T-Thompson... reporting for d-duty... ya'll."

Dipper closed the notebook and stood up. "Dude, aren't you supposed to be sick?"

"He certainly  _looks_  sick," Candy commented.

"I'm sick," Thompson confirmed, stumbling over to lean on the counter. "But I- but I couldn't leave my friends hangin'."

"Aw, Thompson." Mabel affectionately patted his side. "You're the best."

He stuck a thumb up. "I might need to go to the hospital after this. Just- justa warning."

"Oh, trust me," Pacifica said. "You won't be the only one."

* * *

"This is our war paint," Mabel said soulfully as she painted Pacifica's nails black. "Only it's better, 'cause it's sparkly."

"Oh, dear," Dipper said, nose in his notebook again. "Did you break out the starry night nail polish again?"

"You bet I did, bro-bro. Gimme a hand."

He did so, using his knees to keep the book up. Grenda leaned over to whisper in Pacifica's general direction. "It's how he handles his anxiety."

"I didn't think Dipper even had a vague grasp on his anxiety," Pacifica replied. "Good on ya', dork."

The van hit a bump, and Thompson lurched, supported by Lee and Nate. He put a hand to his mouth to avoid puking all over the carpet on the floor of the van. Robbie hit the back of the front seats, which were the only ones up and in use. "Can't you drive any better, Wendy? You're gonna put him in an early grave!"

Wendy jerked the wheel. "Technically, I can't drive at all, so..."

"Right, right. We're damn lucky the police are terrible around here."

"Is having a gun in the front seat even legal?" Lee questioned dubiously. "Because we have multiples up there, and the shotgun is  _kinda_  obvious."

"I dunno, but probably not."

Dipper switched hands, examining the newly painted one. "I think you need a permit."

Wendy grunted to show she'd heard. "If I get arrested for this, one of you better break me out."

"I'll do it," Thompson offered weakly.

"Wow, Tom." Tambry playfully fanned her face. "If I weren't a taken lady, all this chivalry might be enough to make my knees jelly."

"I've already got fanfics planned." Mabel finished the last thumb. "Okay, Wendy, your turn."

"Kinda busy, Mabel."

"Robbie, take over for her."

"What?" He looked surprised. "Dude, I can't drive."

"Technically, none of us can," Dipper offered. "Except Thompson, and he's too sick."

Wendy veered off to the side of the road so Robbie could take her place. Pacifica peeked her head over the seats, but all she could make out was a single dirt road with trees. When the lumberjack opened the back doors, it was the exact same, only sloping downwards.

"Holy fuck," she said without thinking. "You people are driving us to death."

"I thought we established this yesterday," Wendy answered wryly, closing the door. "Alright, Rob, just keep on going."

"There's literally nowhere else to go, so..."

The van gave a mighty jerk, then began moseying on once again. The silence turned brittle as Mabel began the last bit of nail polish.

"So, like, do you guys do this all the time?" Pacifica asked finally, moving her foot to get better circulation.

"Go out in the woods and beat up supernatural creatures?" Grenda shrugged. "More often than you might think."

" _Okay._  I was talking about the nail polish, but  _okay_."

"It's how I focus my attention away from  _my_  crippling anxiety," Mabel chimed in without looking up.

Pacifica studied her hands. "Black isn't really my color, but it's a nice shade."

"I  _respectfully_  disagree, Pazzy."

"Call me Pazzy again and I'll knock your teeth out."

"Ooooh..." Lee bent forward eagerly. "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

"Kids, don't make me turn this hunk of junk around," Robbie warned. "Because I really dunno if it could survive the trip."

"Aw, man."

"Don't worry, Thompson. We'll all pitch in for a tow."

"We will?"

"Shut up and drive, Robert."

* * *

Pacifica wasn't entirely sure how she managed to doze off, but she did, jolting awake when Robbie hit the brakes. Some of the starry night nail polish had smeared onto her pants, especially from her right index finger, but the coat had held up pretty well.

"Well, ya'll." Robbie propped his arm on the back of the front seat. "We outta road."

Grenda hefted her bat onto her shoulder. "Let's go give that dirtbag a coupla love taps."

Wendy handed out the guns. She kept the sawed-off for herself, giving Robbie and Tambry each a handgun. Lee and Nate had both insisted on bringing boxing gloves from home. Thompson was woefully unprepared, from his illness to his water-based weapon, and she instructed him to keep to the back, a job he gratefully accepted.

"Hey." Tambry nudged Pacifica's shoulder. "Where's your Southern boyfriend?"

"I have no idea." She grit her teeth to avoid having them chatter. It had dropped several degrees since the van had been opened last. "If Gideon bailed on us, I'll kill him."

"He sent me a text earlier," Mabel offered, testing the grip on her grappling hook. "He mentioned something about summoning creatures from the pits of hell. I guess that kind of thing takes time?"

Candy did a couple of practice punches. "He's going to miss out on all the fun."

"That's what he gets for not bringing a gun like a normal person." Wendy cocked her's. "Alright, let's move slow. We dunno what all is out here."

"I thought the place was snowy?"

"It's deeper in." The lumberjack snapped a branch off to get through easier. "This is the back way in. My Dad always said that if we ever had to go in here, this was the way to do it."

"Why did your Dad give you advice on how to get into a place he didn't want you going into?"

"Because he likes keeping us prepared. Or did you forget about the apocalypse training courses already?"

"Kinda, yeah." Robbie shrugged sheepishly.

"Wendy?"

"Yeah, Dipper?"

"Your Dad is hardcore."

"Thanks."

* * *

Tennis shoes and boots alike crunched the frosty ground as they drove deeper and deeper into the foliage, rarely speaking. Snow began to fall lightly, then thicker as the day went on. The brass knuckles froze Pacifica's hands too much for her to keep wearing them, slipping them into her pockets.

Wendy held a hand up for silence- despite not needing it- before creeping forward a bit, breath billowing. She hesitantly nodded the okay. The group of peers huddled at the edge of a somewhat steep hill, leading down to a large field covered in swathes of bright white snow. No flakes seemed to fall there, despite their clothes getting steadily more soaked as they watched on. Near the edge, towards the far right scattering of trees, a large deer was bent down to gnaw at a rabbit's fur. Its rack looked as large as the van, and each twist was thicker than any of their arms.

"Awww..." Lee whispered. "It's cleaning the bunny's fur."

Wendy aimed her shotgun grimly. "No, it's not. It's eating it."

"Deer _do_  that?"

"If they're hungry enough, yeah." She kept a steady hand, but her voice quivered a little bit. "Plug your ears."

Pacifica had never heard a gun before. Not in real life. Neither had the twins. The trio exchanged a quietly horrified look as the blast went off.

The following happened quicker than any of their eyes could follow. The bullet cut through the air like it was nothing, eating up the distance like breakfast as it neared the deer. The deer lifted its head, staring at the deadly weapon as it came ever closer. Its eyes glowed. The bullet fell to the snow, covered in ice. Wendy let out a quiet, "hot Belgium waffles."

"Wendy," Robbie said, just as quietly. "Now is exactly the time to use adult swears."

"I have three younger brothers, dude," she hissed back, frantically reloading. "I'm more used to fake-swearing."

"Ew, gross." Nate said as he watched the rabbit slowly stand, missing a chunk of skin. The creature regrew it all in an instant, hopping off into the bushes without any concern. "I think I'm gonna hurl."

The deer turned fully to them, eyes glowing. It had no pupils. Only light. Its voice came without any movement of the lips, as if buried somewhere deep in their minds. "I KNOW YOU ARE HERE."

It stamped a hoof, and the slope melted away, sending them rolling. They all sprawled out on top of each other, grunting and groaning, as trees sprouted around them, hindering their escape. The deer didn't run. It strolled over with purpose, head high.

"I AM ASMUND," it said. "AND YOU ARE TRESPASSERS."

"Hey, man," Robbie replied. "At least we aren't eating bunny rabbits."

Asmund turned its head slightly to look at him, and the teenager cowered. "I FEAST UPON CREATURES FOR SUSTENANCE, YES, BUT THEY FEEL NO PAIN. THEY ARE SAFE HERE. ALL ARE SAFE HERE. TRESPASSERS ARE NOT SAFE HERE."

"Remind me to put hypocritical on Asmund's bio page," Dipper said to Pacifica.

"Your elbow is crammed in my back," Pacifica said to Dipper.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Mabel waved her hands to gain Asmund's attention. "Heya, weird deer vamp thingy! Uh, listen. We're not here to hurt anybody. Y'see, there was this were-possum, and he bit me-"

"I'M AWARE." Asmund nosed her shoulder. "I SMELL IT ON YOU, HUMAN CHILD."

"That's... that's a little freaky." Mabel awkwardly shuffled backwards. "A-Anyway, we kinda need his venom to turn me back to normal, so..."

The deer flicked its ear. "YOU HAVE BROUGHT WEAPONS WITH YOU. YOUR INTENTIONS ARE NOT KIND."

"Of course not!" Grenda yelled. "He hurt our friend!"

"THEN YOU SHOULD UNDERSTAND..." Asmund lowered its head, stamping a hoof in the dirt. "WHY I WON'T ALLOW YOU TO HURT  _MY_  FRIENDS."

A loud roar jolted them all to reality. There was a word of a language they didn't understand, and then a creature of flames was on Asmund's back, digging teeth into its shoulder. The creature gave a mighty buck, but it refused to be moved.

"Ha ha!" Gideon laughed, standing triumphant at the crest of the hill far above them. He waved down at them. "Howdy, ya'll! Sorry fer the delay. You have  _no_  idea how hard it is to find a proper sacrifice for a god of fire."

"THERE ARE NO GODS HERE!" Asmund roared, and the creature gave a stiff jerk and fell, landing in the snow with a dull thud, frozen from the inside out. The deer took in a deep breath and lifted its head, bright eyes burning like fire. Ice crackled as it covered the wound to its shoulder. "THERE IS ONLY THE ICE, AND THERE IS ONLY US."

Gideon gave a mighty gulp. "I've made a terrible mistake."

"YOUR INTENTIONS HAVE BEEN MADE CLEAR." the deer opened its mouth, showing off an impressive set of sharp teeth. "PREPARE TO DIE."

"Scatter!" Robbie shrieked, and they all ran. Pacifica and Dipper rolled into some bushes. Tambry grabbed her boyfriend's hoodie sleeve and ran further down the path, out of sight. Wendy took to the trees, climbing them with ease. No one was entirely certain where Thompson had gone.

"NO MATTER." it approached the hill and touched it with the tip of its large horns, erasing it from existence. Gideon came tumbling down from a height greater than they had prior, screaming all the way. "YOU SHALL BE THE FIRST BLOOD."

"Now, now," Gideon said, scrambling to the back of the snow bank, sounding oddly like his father. "I'm an important person, I'll have you know! I can do things for you that'll blow your mind! You- you really don't wanna miss out on this opportunity!"

"I HAVE ALL I NEED." Asmund opened its mouth wide. "FAREWELL, TRESPASSER."

Another loud bang rang out, and a bullet zinged by, lodging in the ice on Asmund's shoulder. The deer gave a loud yell, shaking its head with anger. The spot where Gideon once sat lay empty. It let out a low snort and turned towards the gunshot, hoofing it off into the distance.

"Holy shit," Gideon whispered from the comforts of their bush, clutching his chest. "I almost died."

"We're not nearly out of danger yet." Dipper peeked out into the empty field. "Does anyone have any ideas on what its weakness might be?"

"Us?" Pacifica demanded. "You're the journal man!"

"I'm only human, Pazzy." Dipper threw up his hands. "How am I s'possed to guess the weakness of an  _ice deer that can't be harmed by gods or bullets?_  It's, like, the ultimate OC!"

"It don't like fire," Gideon said quietly. "The fire god managed to hurt it. Y'know. 'Fore it died."

He cupped his chin. "Asmund said there were no gods here."

"A lighter isn't a god," she offered. "Does anyone have one of those? Or spark rocks? I'm willing to be flexible, people."

"Tambry might. She's a smoker."

"I've literally never seen Tambry smoke in my life, Dipper."

"She's not exactly loud and proud about it. But I  _have_  seen her do it more than once." The pre-teen poked his head out, still finding the coast clear. "If anyone has one, it's her."

"We could jus' stay here," Gideon said, holding a hand up. "We might die last, if we're careful."

"I'd rather not die at all, thanks." Pacifica shoved his shoulder. "Let's get going."

There wasn't any way of sneaking after Asmund. That was, to say, that the forest seemed constantly shifting and moving now, as if sensing the beast's agitation. They kept down the path, side-by-side, refusing to admit that they were scared. Pacifica had her brass knuckles out now, despite it being more frigid than ever. They crested a corner in time to see Grenda smacking Asmund with a bat while Candy punched its wounded shoulder. Asmund plucked the bat out of her grip and bit it in half with a growl.

Lee and Nate were pushed out of the trees, the former swinging some rope like a lasso, grabbing the tip of Asmund's right horn. The creature gave a mighty jerk, but it was pretty heavy-duty stuff, originally planned to be for sealing Evil Jerkface's mouth shut.

"FOOLS," it hissed. "YOU'VE BROUGHT YOURSELVES TO ME."

Asmund knocked Candy and Grenda aside with one sweep of its horns, then twisted towards Lee and Nate, who both turned vaguely green. A bullet glanced off its cheek as Wendy and Tambry finally reappeared, aiming and firing as best they could.

"Tambry!" Dipper called, unwisely bringing attention to himself. "Do you have a lighter?"

Asmund's head jerked toward him, eyes narrowing. It knew he knew. "YOU WILL DIE FIRST, HUMAN CHILD."

"Uh-oh," Dipper said, trying to back away. Trees cornered him on all sides. " _Crap_. Wait, no. I refuse to go out using kid curses. Shit. Damn. Fuck."

The deer lunged.

A larger weight came falling out of the trees with a war cry, landing solidly on Asmund's hurt shoulder and gripping its horns for leverage. That weight would be Thompson, snot dribbling down the edge of his cheek, clinging like it was a bull at the county fair. "L-Lay off, man!"

"I TIRE OF THIS," Asmund grunted, throwing him aside. It turned its head, possibly to freeze him solid, but stopped and scanned him instead. "THAT HUMAN CHILD IS SICK"

"No shit, Sherlock," Robbie panted, coming up behind Tambry and Wendy.

Asmund approached with a surprising amount of care. "WHAT BRINGS YOU TO MY DOMAIN ILL, CHILD?"

Thompson showed a remarkable fortitude in his refusal to get up off his back. Or perhaps he just couldn't stand. He thrusted a hand in the air. "We're gonna help Mabel get better!"

It thought about that a moment. "YOU'VE COME HERE SICKLY AND UNARMED, FOR A FRIEND?"

He pouted a little. "I have a water gun."

"SUCH CAMARADERIE MUST BE REWARDED. IT IS IN MY CODE." Asmund turned away, bounding off into the forest. "A MOMENT."

They all sat in silence, in various shades of dishevelment. Wendy had a gash on her arm. Robbie's flimsy jeans had torn like paper. Grenda and Candy had taken multiple bruises to their sides from the flinging, while the rest had minute scratches.

"Y'know..." Mabel drawled finally. "Today went in a completely different direction that I'd originally anticipated."

Asmund returned with Evil Jerkface's tail in its teeth, dropping him at Thompson's feet to be wrangled. It dipped its head, making a pathway appear behind them.

"TAKE IT," it said. "AND NEVER RETURN."

* * *

"I'm just saying," Robbie was saying, halfheartedly punching the side of their van. "Normal people don't have these problems, ya'll. Normal people don't fight ice gods who eat bunnies. They don't even, like, consider making the words to that kind of sentence."

"Are you driving, or am I?" Wendy asked, sounding absolutely exhausted.

"With that arm? Get in the back."

No one questioned the second road that had popped up at some point, leading them on a gradual incline back to civilization- and hopefully food. No one had the energy to. They each took off their particular weapon of choice, piling the guns on the front seat once again. Grenda fell asleep almost immediately, snoring louder than the radio could ever hope to drown out. Candy played with her hair.

"Well, I guess who we know who the real V.I.P. is here." Lee ruffled Thompson's hair. "Dude, you were awesome today."

"I'm still not entirely sure why Asmund was willing to give up Evil Jerkface," Mabel added, giving him a squeeze. "But you were a narrative godsend."

Dipper tapped his pen to his cheek. "I think it had something to do with how Asmund protects creatures who need its help? And Thompson was so beat up from everything it just kinda... realized it needed to help him more than it needed another meal?"

"I think I intimidated it," Thompson replied, breaking off into a coughing fit.

"Heck yeah you did." Wendy shook her good hand in an effort to pump them up. "Thompson! Thompson!"

They all joined in. "Thompson! Thompson!"

"Aw, you guys," he said, but he was smiling.

* * *

Lazy Susan took one look at the bedraggled group and gave them waffles for free, patting Pacifica on the head as she went by.

"Aw, crap," she hummed, plunking her head down on the table. "I had work today."

"You  _always_  have work, dude."

"I  _know_. Y'wanna know the sad thing?" She chuckled bitterly. "I honestly can't remember what I'm fired from."

"I'm writing Asmund's page," Dipper told them, edging the notebook away from Mabel's syrup-filled plate.  _Asmund_ , it read.  _Being of possibly infinite power. Doesn't like fire. Eats meat, but refuses to harm creatures that can't defend themselves. Seems able to keep a healing force field around the area its in; or, at least, heal the prey it feasts upon. Unknown if connected to Bill or Weirdmageddon._  "You wanna add to it?"

Wendy grabbed the pen, drawing an arrow off its name.  _Too dramatic. Can and will draw out your death._

 _Can freeze gods_ , Gideon added on.  _Probably humans, too._  He drew an arrow to Wendy's statement.

 _Packs a punch_ , Lee put.

 _Needs therapy_ , wrote Nate.

 ** _Asshole_**. Robbie ground the pen in so much the word was bold.

 _Nightmare eyes._  Pacifica didn't even bother with cursive, passing it off to Mabel with a shrug.

 _Power is probably in its horns tbh_ , she scrawled on the bottom.  _May or may not gain power off feeding from little creatures. All around terrible deer vamp._

"I never even thought of that," Dipper mused. "Interesting hypothesis, Lady Mabes."

"Can we eat now?" Tambry demanded. "I can't send out updates if I'm too hungry to see straight."

* * *

The townhouse was eerily silent when Pacifica pushed open the door, key hanging in the lock. It was almost like a morgue. But, frankly? Pacifica was too tired for it. She took her key out, shut the door, and headed to bed, only to stop in the hallway. Priscilla was bent over the small table they'd eaten dinner at last, head in her hands. "Mom?"

The woman jumped. "Pacifica?" Priscilla sprinted over in old high heels, taking her into her arms. "Oh, thank god. I thought you'd run away from home!"

"Sorry," she said, though she didn't really feel sorry. "I was helping some friends out."

She squeezed her arms. "Call me next time."

"Yes, ma'am." Pacifica's eyes darted around, waiting for another voice to join the fray. It didn't. "Um, where's Dad?"

Her face fell. "Take a seat, honey."

Pacifica swallowed (because, seriously, nobody who ever said that meant good things were coming) and slipped into a chair. Priscilla did the same, taking hold of her hands. She tapped her bracelets lightly on the surface, as if conjuring dinners past.

"Preston..." She swallowed. "He's not coming back, Pacifica."

Her stomach sank. "Did he, like, die or something?"

Priscilla shook her head. "We kept waiting for you to come home. Preston- he thought you were just rebelling. And then we thought you'd left forever, and... it was the last straw."

"I'm back now," Pacifica offered quietly.

"I'm glad you are," she answered firmly. "But he's not. And he won't be."

"Oh." The blonde took in a deep breath, trying to calm her rushing mind. She couldn't think straight. Nothing made sense anymore. "...What do we do now?"

"I've had offers." She paused. "From other men. Rich men."

"You're gonna re-marry?"

"I can't live like this, Pazzy." Priscilla brushed her bangs away to look her in the eye, and that was why Pacifica didn't like Pazzy. Only her mother ever used it. Only at times like this. "You're practically carrying us, now, and you're just in high school. I'll... I'll marry better this time, Pazzy. Someone nicer."

Pacifica squeezed her hands. There were a multitude of better options to this, but she never could deter her when she'd made up her mind. "I want to keep my jobs."

"They're killing you, Pazzy."

"Not all of them. Some of them. I just- I need an outlet." The money is a plus, too.

Priscilla leaned over to kiss her forehead. "Alright, kiddo. If you really need to."

That night, Pacifica slept in her parent's bed for the first time in years, though she didn't sleep so much as she lay stiffly on the edge, wondering where her father was now. What he was doing. If he'd gone so far as to leave like this, he probably didn't want her using the Northwest name.

Too bad. It wasn't just his. Not anymore.

* * *

"This feels like a peculiar end to an already peculiar situation."

"Dipper," Mabel said sternly, as if she were about to receive an award instead of a shot. "Don't ruin this for me."

"Sorry."

Ford chuckled, tapping the syringe. "I've found that the only ending that isn't peculiar is death. That just sucks."

"Grunkle Ford, I know you're trying to help, but that was the exact opposite of help."

"Take it from me, kid," Stan said, patting his chest. "Just go with it. It'll make sense one day."

"Really?"

"No. I'm trying to make you feel better."

"Oh. Well, thanks."

"Anytime."

A knock to the door heralded Pacifica, who leaned on the frame with an odd look in her eye. She wore a purple hoodie covered in sparkles and shorts. She watched as Ford gently pulled the needle out. "So, you're no longer an angry creature of the night, then?"

"Yup!" Mabel pulled her sweater down with a wide smile. "I feel like a pin cushion!"

"So," Dipper broached the topic by awkwardly pulling at his shirt collar. "How, uh, how did your folks take it?"

Pacifica shrugged, eyes darting to the floor. "I think my Dad hates me, but I didn't expect anything less. You guys wanna go for a swim in the lake? That's something people do, right?"

"Only if we can get Hermanos Brothers on the way." Mabel hopped off the counter- which, in hindsight, probably wasn't a good place to get a shot. "I've been craving it like bananas ever since Dip-Dop shoved some in my possum-y maw."

"I have no moral objection to badly made burritos."

They walked out the shack, arm in arm, mostly because Mabel had demanded it, and Pacifica was in an obliging mood. Somehow, this felt more rebellious than going out in the woods and wailing on an ice god, and she found she preferred it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote all of this in one day! I was in The ZoneTM. So, I wanna get into the habit of, like, talking about the original stuff for these stories, so if anyone was interested they could read about it, so here we go!
> 
> Were-Mabel was an idea I've had for a while. I don't even recall where the idea of a were-possum came from. I just like were-critters. Oddly enough, Asmund was also planned. I know it's an odd addition to this 'fic, but it's true. Preston up and leaving was actually completely unplanned, and popped into my head yesterday. Originally, he was just gone, and I think I was gonna imply he was out looking for a job or something, but running away seemed far more apt for his character.
> 
> Thompson? Was actually unplanned? Robbie talking about how he was sick in part one was mostly just an excuse as to why he wasn't hanging around during the reunion scene. Originally, Asmund was gonna see Mabel mid-transformation (it was gonna control the day and night cycle, but I thought that was probably a bit too OP) and realize Evil Jerkface wasn't worth the trouble. Also, it wasn't gonna be a deer-vamp, but I find that cooler than some random deity in the woods.
> 
> I do wish we could've had s'more Soos and Melody. Maybe next time. In its own right, this kinda feels like a story in the middle of other stories, and that's cool. Sometimes, it's best just to kinda go with it.
> 
> Until next time!
> 
> -Mandaree1

**Author's Note:**

> Eyyy, a non-Teen!Delinquent AU related GF 'fic! I'm pretty sure this is gonna be a three-parter.
> 
> I've always had a soft spot for werewolves. But why not other were-creatures? Anything can be a were-creature if it wants to be. Were-possums, were-foxes, were-snails- infinite universes, infinite were-critters!
> 
> -Mandaree1


End file.
